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Stephen James Mar 24
i judge wisely
guiding those who step blindly

just like Socrates
delivering
his apology

to the courtroom...

the jury voted to execute the scholar
the masses couldnt stop it

the man spoke with wisdom
and made the teachers look foolish

puzzled institutions
made the students feel clueless

refused to give in
when the verdict was handed

and died as a martyr
in the city of Athens

where knowledge
was passed verbatim

committed to memory
mental dexterity

progresses forward
to clarity

where visions of molecules
from the cuticles to the temples

perpetuates inner space
to leave a trace of verbal pixels

vocal residuals
of intellect and scriptures

delivered, colored, and structured
forming a vivid picture

relinquish to replenish
the thoughts of the gifted

unique with the sequence
to keep it

on the "straight & narrow"
to the finish
a poem
ns carmona Mar 2018
I envy her, the ashen girl
submerged within her flames -
with burning lobes and burning robes
but smiling all the same.
i hope she'll soon be me
How you move so fluidly
I’ll never know how
All I have are my eyes
Trying desperately to take as much of you in as I can

I want to be what inspires you
What you dance to in the morning while the coffee is brewing
And our bed is still warm

I’ll share with you every word I have
Nearly every one will be about you
Even if we should come to an end
I know I could never stop what pours from this bleeding heart

If you keep rhythm in your feet
I’ll keep lyrics in my lungs
So we may constantly be what the other needs
To keep going
Salmabanu Hatim May 2018
You be my poet,
And I your poem.
Let the lyrics of our love swim
in your head,
Drift them to the sea of your soul,
And then,pen your feelings for me,
On a perfumed  page.
Script each stanza in melodic verses,
Metaphor me,
Personify me,
Alliterate me,
Till I am submerged in your thoughts and emotions,
Only I,
I your true love.
Tiger Ayres May 2018
Koh Lanta
Stretching out further than this stanza
A calm chilled place
But less than a fraction of the human race
Waves for surfing
Volley ball skills constantly rehearsing
But none of those things
Will comfort those cold dripping screams.

Just normal people minding their own business
Till a wave came along more exciting than Christmas
And another and another pile on top
Till the waves had to fall and drop.

Then another came along and the next thing we know
We’re scared
No excitement no surfing no volley ball
We’re scared
No calm no chill
We’re scared.

Water dripped from the young and the old
Young and the old dripped from the water
The volley ball rolls from the beach to the sea
The sea rolls from the volley ball to the beach
The houses never stood so tall and strong
So tall and strong the houses never stood
Koh Lanta
In class we were watching a documentary about a tsunami in Koh Lanta which we then told to write a poem on. I spent the rest of that lesson, which was a bout 30 minutes, and some of the next. I just saw this poem and was so proud I decided to post it for people to see.
PoserPersona May 2018
Try utilizing meter and form
Stanzas that can be adored
Not necessarily rhyming
Though at least include some pacing
Prose riding rhythm
Consider a little alliteration
Free verse certainly has merit
But too often excuses ****.
Give us not what is convenient,
But that which is brilliant.

Always,
One unwilling to partake in your portentous ****
Yes, I think there is a lot of great contemporary poetry and poets, as much as any other genre, but I just feel free prose is abused not for its brilliance, but for the apparent convenience people seem to think it affords them.
Maria Etre May 2018
Drown
yourself
in
your
self
worth
not
your
tears
Simra Sadaf May 2018
she abandoned you
like the last stanza of
a poem unwritten.
Anji Feb 2018
I want a man whose heart is so full -
Rainwater dripping from the pitcher on the drizzled grey of yesterday,
A soft sound in the great symphony of the wet garden,
Bejeweled and glistening,
Pianoforte drops
Upon the wet leaves
Falling.

I will know him by the way he writes, the kindness in his eyes -
Flashes of him in my professor,
In myself, caught laughing like a child,
In the quiet teenager who is becoming an
Unlikely philosopher, frontal cortex in heat,
With the implications of existence
(He’s awake in the early dawn, a furious Jacob,
wrestling with his God)

And he will be a Seeker of Beauty:
“There is no medium unworthy”
He will tell me, but never in words,
Crouching for perfection’s grace among leaves and dirt
Like a widow beneath rainbow fractals
At early morning’s mass.

He will be effortless, like the unspoken love
Between two old friends, bookends
Scattering crumbs of baguettes in the park
To clicking beaks, and dancing pigeon feet.

Burying himself in pages, when he thinks no one sees
(Was that you there, on the subway?
Dark eyes, fixated on the lines,
Crinkling with understanding?)

Both of us adventurous spirits -
“Let’s run away, you and me” and we will
Melt with ease into cityscapes, so transparent, adaptive,
Young and free,
Like the wood moths becoming one
With the aspen in its serenity,
We light upon
France, Spain… Italy.

I know I will find him
In my own verse.
Will discover him
In pages that I’ve turned.
Will recite his thoughts back to him, and will
Love him like poetry.
I will know him by heart.
"That’s cool. The first stanza is kinda awkward, though, maybe I hadn’t gotten into it yet. Good imagery. Makes my brain hurt. But that could also just be because I have a migraine." - mom
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